if expecting to see everything there materially changed, and
though he looked toward the figure of Mr. Crawford now and then,
it was with difficulty, and he averted his eyes as quickly as
possible. He was distinctly nervous, and though he listened to
the remarks of Coroner Monroe and the other jurors, he seemed
impatient to get away.

Mr. Porter, in appearance, was almost the exact reverse of Mr.
Hamilton. He was a middle-aged man with the iron gray hair and
piercing dark eyes that go to make up what is perhaps the
handsomest type of Americans. He was a tall man, strong, lean
and sinewy, with a bearing of dignity and decision. Both these
men were well-dressed to the point of affluence, and, as near
neighbor and intimate friends of the dead man, they seemed to
prefer to stand together and a little apart from the rest.

Three more of the jurors seemed to me not especially noticeable
in any way. They looked as one would expect property owners in
West Sedgwick to look. They listened attentively to what Mr.
Monroe said, asked few or no questions, and seemed appalled at
the unusual task they had before them.

Only one juror impressed me unpleasantly. That was Mr. Orville,
a youngish man, who seemed rather elated at the position in which
he found himself. He fingered nearly everything on the desk; he
peered carefully into the face of the victim of the crime, and he
somewhat ostentatiously made notes in a small Russia leather
memorandum book.

He spoke often to the coroner, saying things which seemed to me